[he didn't know how his words would be received, and frankly, he was half expecting them to be brushed off or laughed away. whatever descended into Andersen's head in this strange confessional, with a new sort of incense in the burners.
except that they are not, and he receives the words in response - as close to I'll try as will come out of Andersen's mouth. good enough. good enough for him. there was no choice but to accept what was there, and the corners of his mouth move upwards.
my friend. yes, that was a good word for it. that just might be the right word for it.]
Then we've reached an accord. Though I have to disagree about character-defining. Certainly there are better quotes for your collection elsewhere.
I'm always the Count, Andersen. He and I are the same being.
[gently, he pulls his hand away, but the reason why becomes clear as he rolls onto his back, slowly peeling his gloves off and placing them on the side table. there, that's a little better for him.]
It's unnecessary emotion that's held back. Not all of it.
[He'll take it as a sign that Dantes is comfortable with his presence. Bolstered by the high he's on, Andersen goes over to run his hands over the bedsheets, just for the sake of smoothing out the texture before lying down over Dantes's legs.
Heh. Feels like logs.]
Ha ha! Emotions such as what? Tell me, and I'll tell you that my assumptions were right from the beginning.
I'm not going to answer you just to hear you crow about whatever you've assumed.
[the weight of his Witch on his legs is novel, amusing. he'll let him stay for now.]
As the Count, I feel joy, admiration, anger, pain, sorrow, attraction, repulsion - everything a man feels, I do. But what is allowed to be seen in excess is what is restrained. Above all else, I am a man in control.
[folding his hands on his stomach, he looks up at the ceiling.]
It gives me dignity. And that is part of the Count's charm.
[How laughable it was, then, for the Count to be transformed into a Monster. It's something that hasn't escaped Andersen's sense of irony, though he rarely brings it up. He has handled the past full moons well, though their argument during the mists still remain in the back of his mind.]
... and you've managed to remain in control, even in this situation. I envy that. I can't imagine holding myself with so much restraint, I may as well choke myself.
[He closes his eyes to focus on the sensation beneath his back.]
I've had a long, long time to practice. You can't imagine it because you've never had a need for it, for needing to be aware of every single one of your motions and words such that you're not a man at all, but your own constructed fiction.
[there's a tinge of melancholy when he says it. he can do it, and do it well, and there is pride. but...it does not exactly bring happiness.]
No. To use a metaphor... you and I are flames, are we not? Spirits of the dead fueled by purpose. We aren't summoned to live again, but to further the goals of the World -- or that of our summoner, we aren't exactly picky, are we!
[He makes a vague gesture with his hands.]
Well, let me lay it out for you. You are a roaring inferno. Practically a walking oven with the sun in your belly! As you've said, you've had years of practice. Nothing could cease your movement, save for a second death. You will claw your way back to our Master, most certainly.
But I... [Here, he pinches his fingers together.] ... I'm a little candle, Dantes. And I feel awfully pleasant right now, and I don't think I'll get a chance to feel this pleasant again outside this room.
[he's silent for a minute, before he moves, his legs shifting beneath Andersen to nudge him upwards, to sit and look at him in the eyes again. only then does he reach out to lay his hand on Andersen's own. despite the gloves, the weather chilled them, and so absent their protection, the touch was a cooler one, only a degree below Andersen's own skin. not too warm, not too cold. just there.]
Does that really feel like the sun to you?
[anger and hatred roaring and fires climbing ever higher, but a part of him is also frigid, permafrost encasing his heart. cold as the sea at night, as iron left out in a blizzard. that ice is why he did not burn up before his job was done.]
A candle has purpose. All the world wants to do with infernos is to extinguish them before they scorch all the earth. But a candle lights the way.
[Aha! natters the authorial voice inside his head. A touch with no gloves. It's a physical metaphor. And it's so stupid for that voice to be speaking now -- so stupid for him to even linger on the idea -- that Andersen begins to laugh again, the sound bubbling out of him without control.]
No. No more speeches!
[And he holds a finger to Dantes's lips to truly silence him.]
I know. I know, for whatever reason, I've become someone of importance to you. And I won't question that... much. But -- [and he looks straight into those golden eyes, says a little too cheerfully] --how is a candle to survive when it's been thrown in the water, hmm? Quit trying to-- hold me? Cradle me? It's fine. I'm feeling quite fine!
[he can't reply, with that finger there, holding his lips shut as securely as stitches. instead he merely pulls his hands back, holds them up by his head. surrender, plain and simple. if he cannot have his speeches, he must yield, though there's something like mirth there - silencing him? it would never be a permanent thing.
mirth, and the faintest traces of sorrow. (there is always sorrow there, buried under everything else. the bedrock he was built upon required it.)]
[The gesture seems to appease Andersen. He drops his finger, and rolls away so he may, once again, be on his back. The room feels as if it's spinning. He closes his eyes once more and, through the Bond, Dantes may feel an overwhelming sense of relief at shutting out everything in sight.]
Then rest. Unless you have some pressing deadlines to meet.
[Dantes lowers his hands, the relief a little contagious, and turns onto his side to close his eyes. this discussion drained him some when he'd rather linger in the mellow high, and he knows he'd be utterly useless trying to get work done in this condition. his bed's comfortable, and it's not cold - there's the concept of trying to get the blanket up for them, but that's a thought if they get chilly.]
You need the energy to berate me for my life choices later, after all.
[with a sigh, he pulls himself up some, enough to grab the the quilt folded at the end of the bed and bring it up, drawing it over them both. there. that should be better, and the warmth will soothe him still further as he settles back down, shutting his eyes again.]
[He can't remember the last time he'd been so close to someone. And for it to be with Edmond Dantes, of all people? It sounds closer to a comedic script than something real. Yet here they were, side-by-side, just close enough to hear each other breathe. For better or for worse, they were indeed friends.
After a few seconds of silence, he moves his head so it may rest on Dantes's arm. Just to make himself comfortable enough to sleep.]
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except that they are not, and he receives the words in response - as close to I'll try as will come out of Andersen's mouth. good enough. good enough for him. there was no choice but to accept what was there, and the corners of his mouth move upwards.
my friend. yes, that was a good word for it. that just might be the right word for it.]
Then we've reached an accord. Though I have to disagree about character-defining. Certainly there are better quotes for your collection elsewhere.
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[He says, still holding his hand.]
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[gently, he pulls his hand away, but the reason why becomes clear as he rolls onto his back, slowly peeling his gloves off and placing them on the side table. there, that's a little better for him.]
It's unnecessary emotion that's held back. Not all of it.
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Heh. Feels like logs.]
Ha ha! Emotions such as what? Tell me, and I'll tell you that my assumptions were right from the beginning.
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[the weight of his Witch on his legs is novel, amusing. he'll let him stay for now.]
As the Count, I feel joy, admiration, anger, pain, sorrow, attraction, repulsion - everything a man feels, I do. But what is allowed to be seen in excess is what is restrained. Above all else, I am a man in control.
[folding his hands on his stomach, he looks up at the ceiling.]
It gives me dignity. And that is part of the Count's charm.
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... and you've managed to remain in control, even in this situation. I envy that. I can't imagine holding myself with so much restraint, I may as well choke myself.
[He closes his eyes to focus on the sensation beneath his back.]
If I remain any longer in this world... hm.
[... he didn't finish his thought?]
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[there's a tinge of melancholy when he says it. he can do it, and do it well, and there is pride. but...it does not exactly bring happiness.]
Do you fear this world will choke you, Andersen?
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[He makes a vague gesture with his hands.]
Well, let me lay it out for you. You are a roaring inferno. Practically a walking oven with the sun in your belly! As you've said, you've had years of practice. Nothing could cease your movement, save for a second death. You will claw your way back to our Master, most certainly.
But I... [Here, he pinches his fingers together.] ... I'm a little candle, Dantes. And I feel awfully pleasant right now, and I don't think I'll get a chance to feel this pleasant again outside this room.
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Does that really feel like the sun to you?
[anger and hatred roaring and fires climbing ever higher, but a part of him is also frigid, permafrost encasing his heart. cold as the sea at night, as iron left out in a blizzard. that ice is why he did not burn up before his job was done.]
A candle has purpose. All the world wants to do with infernos is to extinguish them before they scorch all the earth. But a candle lights the way.
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No. No more speeches!
[And he holds a finger to Dantes's lips to truly silence him.]
I know. I know, for whatever reason, I've become someone of importance to you. And I won't question that... much. But -- [and he looks straight into those golden eyes, says a little too cheerfully] --how is a candle to survive when it's been thrown in the water, hmm? Quit trying to-- hold me? Cradle me? It's fine. I'm feeling quite fine!
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mirth, and the faintest traces of sorrow. (there is always sorrow there, buried under everything else. the bedrock he was built upon required it.)]
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I'm exhausted.
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[Dantes lowers his hands, the relief a little contagious, and turns onto his side to close his eyes. this discussion drained him some when he'd rather linger in the mellow high, and he knows he'd be utterly useless trying to get work done in this condition. his bed's comfortable, and it's not cold - there's the concept of trying to get the blanket up for them, but that's a thought if they get chilly.]
You need the energy to berate me for my life choices later, after all.
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Do you intend to do something stupid so I can scold you? You're more of a masochist than I thought, Dantes.
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[there's a feeling of relaxation on his end, an undercurrent of ease that's not often present.]
...are you cold?
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Just a bit.
[He's not.]
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[with a sigh, he pulls himself up some, enough to grab the the quilt folded at the end of the bed and bring it up, drawing it over them both. there. that should be better, and the warmth will soothe him still further as he settles back down, shutting his eyes again.]
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After a few seconds of silence, he moves his head so it may rest on Dantes's arm. Just to make himself comfortable enough to sleep.]